


After All of This Time

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry watches over Severus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All of This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written to satisfy a random muse. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

He sits at his desk, surrounded by thick parchment and books. His head bowed, he scratches his quill against the paper and takes careful notes. His hair drops over his face and hides him from my view.

I say his name.

He looks up.

I whisper, “I just want to see your face again,” and I think he almost hears.

He clutches his wand and snarls _Homenum Revelio_. He should know better.

That spell only works on the living.

*

I sit by his side when he eats his breakfast. The portions are meagre and crudely put together. His coffee sloshes over the side of a chipped mug. There’s a picture of a lion on the side, and I smile. He hated that mug once, and now it’s the only one he uses.

The eggs look as if they have seen better days. They’re just on the right side of being edible. The toast crunches between his teeth and I watch his mouth move. His lips are thin and chapped, and his face looks hollow and sharper than before. Pale and tired, he rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. Dark circles frame them and he looks like he needs a decent sleep.

The lamp in the corner of the room burns brightly and casts shadows around the room. It must be no later than five in the morning. The sun hasn’t yet risen and the whole room feels dark and cold.

_“We need to get out of these dungeons. There’s not enough light and besides – I reckon there’s damp._

But he didn’t get out.

And neither did I.

*

I decide to leave him for a while and go flying. The sky is thick with rainclouds and I wonder maybe – if I fly high enough – I will be able to touch the stars.

I let the wind carry me and I close my eyes.

We were fighting again. He pulled me onto my feet and I clutched his robes when he shouted, and started to shout back. It was _Snape_ and _Potter_ back then, and we never gave each other the space to just breathe. My heart pounded in my chest and I knew he felt it too. It thudded and skipped between us and he pulled me nearer with a desperate growl.

He didn’t want to show me. I knew he’d have taken several hits of the _Cruciatus_ curse before he let me in on his secret. But I wasn’t him, and his secret was my secret too. I mustered up my Gryffindor courage and right when I thought he was going to explode with anger, I kissed him.

That seemed to do the trick.

I open my eyes and the memories fade until all I see is his face in the clouds. He looks older than I can remember and I know that’s because of me. I can’t breathe anymore and I swallow, again and again as hot tears streak down my cheeks.

I stretch out my arms and let myself fall through the sky as the ground moves closer with alarming speed.

If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost feel my heart beating again.

I feel _alive_.

*

He stares at the fire and the flames make strange shadows hop and skip over his face.

He does this sometimes, when he’s had a brandy after supper. I sit next to him and he looks right at me.

“Severus?”

He looks back at the fire without saying a word.

We sit in silence for a while until his shoulders begin move with the force of his tears. He buries his face in his hands and he murmurs my name.

“ _Harry_.”

I move closer and hold onto him as best I can, letting my own tears fall as I try to smell the musk on his skin. I long to feel his arms circle around me and I press my hand over his, tracing his fingers which are stained with irregular spots of ink.

 _“You are insufferably warm.”_ He said it once, with a lazy smirk as we looked up at the mottled patterns on the ceiling, trying to catch our breath.

_“And you’re just insufferable.”_

He shivers, and pulls his robes around himself. He stands, douses the fire with a quick spell and leaves the room without once looking back.

*

He keeps the papers, even though I don’t think he should. I try to send them skittering along the floor with a gust of air but he just tidies them up and puts them fastidiously back in his desk drawer. He takes them out from time to time, and I watch him looking at them.

His fingers move over every line of my face and my photo looks straight at him, waving and smiling. My hair looks bloody ridiculous as always but the uniform looks good. It’s a rich navy tunic with lapels on the shoulders and lots of official looking medals just over my heart.

When he finishes with the papers, Severus takes out the tunic which he keeps carefully wrapped in the back our small wardrobe. I wish he wouldn’t keep it. The silver trim on the end of the sleeves is still covered with blood which has now faded to a dull, rusty brown. There’s a deep gash in the material along the torso where the spell sliced through.

Whenever he takes it out, I feel the spell ripping my body open from my hip to my heart. I hear gold medals fall to the floor and the dull thud of my body as I drop to my knees. People are running and screaming, which is silly because I’m _fine_.

Severus gets there first and casts angry spells to hold everyone else back. He clutches me in his arms and I try to lift my hands to wrap my arms around his neck but everything feels heavy and sore.

 _“Don’t worry,”_ I try to say but my mouth won’t move.

Severus murmurs in my ear and he clutches me against his chest. He barks out orders to faceless people and when he presses his hand to my cheek, I notice it’s sticky and warm. Somebody must be seriously hurt.

He can hardly speak he’s so angry and he uses a tone I haven’t heard in ages.

 _“Don’t you dare, Potter!_ ”

Then the wardrobe clicks open and the tunic gets pushed to the back where it nestles with long black robes and ripped jeans. The memories follow with it and I steady my breathing as the pain in my chest lifts.

Severus closes the door and drops his forehead against the wood. His lips press into a firm line and he looks as though he needs someone to keep him upright.

“I promise I won’t leave you.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s a promise I’ve already broken.

*

Not long after that, he leaves Hogwarts.

Thankfully, I’m able to follow him and I watch as he unpacks small cardboard boxes filled with books and kitchenware.

There’s a box labelled ‘Harry’ and I watch as he takes out all of the items I never knew he kept. There’s a battered golden snitch and the mug he always uses for his morning coffee. There’s my wand, and a few of my clothes and a small stack of photos. He even keeps the ones of Sirius, which is good of him and he puts them carefully in small frames. He takes his time arranging the photographs, and I have to laugh when I see Sirius and dad have been pushed right to the back.

He packs the other items carefully into a small mahogany chest. It belonged to his mum and it’s just about the only possession he’s ever really treasured.

He puts up one particular photo in the centre of the mantelpiece and I sit up half the night watching it long after he goes to bed. It’s the two of us, surrounded by snow. He’s scowling and I look happier than ever. When the photo shifts the camera catches him, looking at me in the way I always used to like best.

I crawl into bed beside him and curl up, watching him sleep.

His lips twitch into a smile and I wonder what he’s dreaming about. His lips form my name, and I have my answer. I brush my hand over his hair which now has thick strands of grey next to inky-black.

I settle back on the bed and slip my hand into his, listening to the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

*

Sometimes I really try to let him know I’m there.

When he has his darker moments and begins to study necromancy, I make his books fly off the shelves with a clatter. He soon gets the message when it happens more than once, and turns to horticulture instead.

I sit with him in the garden and watch him tend to his herbs. He grows the strangest kind of things and all sorts of ingredients for his potions. I often wonder what the Muggle neighbours must think when they look over the fence seeking advice on their daffodils. He gives them short shrift and rarely accepts guests, although a local woman that reminds me of Mrs Figg calls on him from time to time with an assortment of baked goods.

He gets into the habit of reading out loud before he goes to bed in the evening. Thankfully he avoids his usual heavy tomes and chooses Muggle stories with all kinds of adventures. He puts on his reading glasses and reads a chapter at a time, just before bed. I rest on the bed next to him and listen to him read, waiting eagerly for the next evening and the continuation of the story.

The books we read gather into piles on the bedside table, until they require their own small bookcase.

One night, Severus begins the story of the boy who never grew up. He reaches the end of the chapter and closes the book. Just as I always do, I look at him closely before he turns off the light. I drink in every line on his forehead and every crease in the corners of his mouth.

I slip my hand into his and settle back to listen to him breathe.

Just as the first glimmer of dawn begins to break, his breathing shudders and slows until there is no breath left at all.

I open my eyes, and Severus squeezes my hand.

_~Fin~_


End file.
